by Chris Hechtl
Most of their technology had been lost due to the lack of tools and eventually the lack of understanding to repair them. They also had no means to mine and smelt ore in the water, though Noeyes had passed down the knowledge that such things had once been done in his teachings.
Their population was shrinking every year; fewer eggs were hatching to become larvae. Efforts by the parents to protect the few larvae have mixed results. A revolution before Brrfrak's birthing season, the effort had led to disaster. They'd carefully sheltered the larva in a cove and had kept it fed by a small Rock Shaper crafted inlet.
But salinity had risen as the tide had gone out. The waters had gotten too warm, and to cap it, the bird-like creatures had feasted on any of the larva that had been near the surface. Only two had survived that season to leave the pool. Both had died a revolution later.
Their practice of birthing thousands of eggs and then fertilizing them in sprays of sperm was partly to blame for the loss. The strict adherence to the Great Planner's designs for their life cycle during the early founding of the colony had been another problem until the Shapers and Life Keepers had recognized the decline of births and had finally modified such practices. No longer did mates have to fight to fertilize the sperm. No longer did they leave the larva to live or die in the wild for a revolution before they were caught and brought in to be educated. Straight from the birthing ponds the larvae were picked up by their “parents” and escorted to the caverns to be nurtured and grown as if they were fish or other animals. Only when sapience began to seep into their minds as they grew and aged did they begin to appreciate such endeavors. After their first molt, they were introduced to the dangers of the outside seas in guided tours. Only then did they stop resenting the restrictions the adults put up on their travel and safety.
Still, it wasn't enough. It was a terrible burden for all of their kind to know this. Some grew heartsick that there were some things they couldn't change. Some became listless, others who lost a mate or stopped caring would drift off, letting the current take them where it would.
Fear of such a lonely existence kept others from following them. Efforts to draw them back with sonar songs many times went unanswered. Few ever found a renewed spark of life in their apathy.
According to their teachings, the planet was covered with mostly water with a sprinkling of arpeggio and islands. Among those places existed the small coves used for birthing of the Ssilli as well as the nonsapient other species that existed in the ecosystem.
The planet was terraformed enough to support life long ago, but it had not been moved far enough out from the hot parent sun. Slowly the seas were getting hotter every year as the planet moved in its orbit closer to the star. The overall temperature went up over years and decades, threatening the delicate balance of Ssilli egg maturation.
Then there was the dark time, the time when the planet moved its greatest distance from the star. Then the waters cooled and in far north and south, froze.
Those thoughts went through Brrfrak's mind briefly as he relocated his diving stones to their normal location outside the cavern and then followed his partner to the surface for their first dive of the day. Somewhere in-between they would need to find the energy to give token effort to help the shapers, if only to put in an appearance to keep the elders at bay later in the evening.
Perhaps they could gather the bird waste on the shore? That might allow them to stay on the surface instead of in the stinky depths of the waste caverns. He knew from experience though that the task was almost as hard to do as the cleaning. One had to be patient to use scraper rocks to gather what material they could. According to the Plant Shapers, such waste was valuable because it had materials their own and the fish waste lacked.
He didn't care. It would give him an opportunity to be on the surface legitimately, and to draw Sputtersque to the spawning and birthing covers to talk about their future.
@^&##{==
Petty Officer Third Class Kelsea Travere shook her head, feeling the wind ruffle her short spacer haircut as she turned away from the burning sun. Sure it felt good, but so did the sunlamp on the ship. This was just a more normal way to get a tan and dangerous since there was other natural radiation coming from the star.
She, like her crewmates, was thoroughly disgusted that there was nothing of value in the area. The planet that had been such a long shot but potential lead had turned into a decided dead end. One that might be dead for them as well if they couldn't figure out how to get the ship fueled so they could leave and get back to some semblance of civilization.
Months to get there. Nearly a year traveling through four empty star systems. They could have gotten halfway into Tau sector or done a half loop through the sector and had a three or four good stops along the way but no, a roll of the dice on some stupid single line mention on an intel sheet and a “check priority” on the admiralty's intelligence list.
The “check priority list” had a bonus if you found something there or in the area. But a ship's crew risked their neck and got diddly if they came up empty handed. The star system was scratched off the list to keep others from bothering with it.
One in a thousand turned up something viable. But when they did it could make or break a crew's fortunes for all time—their fortunes and their families.
“Another dead end. Chasing the big payday when we should have racked up a lot of little ones,” she grumbled as she dropped the end of the hose with its basket into the water. The basket was supposed to keep crap from getting into the hose and holing it or tearing the pump's impeller up. She made a mental note to check on it later. No doubt fish or seaweed would clog the damn thing up.
Something always did she thought as she made her way back to her partner for the current chore. She brushed her hands, getting rid of the errant sand and crap the birds seemed to have left all over the rocks in the area.
She'd held a death grip on the arm rests of her battered shuttle seat the whole way down. It hadn't been the turbulence as much as the threat of the landing—a landing on an unprepared surface. One that could have kicked up all sorts of foreign objects into the underside and jet engine intakes. The shuttle would have to have a thorough FOD check before she went to orbit.
And the shuttle would have to make such trips again and again, ferrying fuel in bladders up to the ship and then empty ones back down again. The powers that be had calculated a dozen trips would safely see them back to Nightingale with a 5 percent margin for safety. If she had her druthers, she'd make it 10 but she agreed with the Angelo, the pilot. He wasn't thrilled about putting that much clock time on his bird.
She for one wouldn't feel good about the place until she was safely back on board the ship and out of the star system.
“You really want to piss the skipper off by letting him hear you talk like that?” Petty Officer Second Class Blake Hale asked mildly. He cracked his tattooed knuckles then reveled in having his coverall top off and tied around his waist. He liked showing off his pecks and muscles … not that she seemed to appreciate it.
Kelsea was a pear, not really his type, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd deliberately volunteered to help haul the damn hose out to the water in order to be alone with her for a while. If they lingered they might be missed, but he'd put a quiet word in with a couple of the guys to cover for them just in case. It wasn't like they were in a hurry to go anywhere or anything.
“Oh, hell no!” Kelsea replied, shaking her head. “Why do you think I waited until we were off ship on this so-called shore leave,” she used air quotes for the last two words, “to bitch?”
“Pissing and moaning is nice, but in the end we still have a job to do on this “shore leave” of yours. Just be thankful we get to get out of the ship at all.”
“Ah hell, you know a gal's gotta blow off some steam sometimes,” Kelsea Travere muttered. She silently hoped and prayed he wouldn't try to use her loose talk against her. If it came down to it, she might have to pull out the big guns and threaten
him with a sexual harassment complaint. That would be their equivalent of a slightly less than nuclear exchange, one neither one of them would be able to walk away from easily.
And since it was a small ship, transfers were definitely out of the question.
A moment of tableau hovered before he made up his mind. “I prefer my gender's methods myself,” Blake replied, smiling roguishly.
“Right,” she drawled, eying him with scant favor but secretly feeling a thrill of relief. “Get drunk and bitch, or oh, go fight something, or um...”
“Sex,” he said with a delicious grin and waggle of his eyebrows in suggestion. “Come on, a nice beach, the waves … what more could a woman want?” he implored.
She snorted. He sounded almost desperate. She didn't mind the occasional mercy fuck, but the problem was he was an asshole of the first order. Also, he'd then want it all the time and consider it his “right.” So, best to nip it in the bud. “Yeah, pound meat of another sort. Keep that hand handy,” she said scathingly in parting. “You'll need it,” she said, twisting the knife as she left him. She liked to see how red his face got. Even his ears blushed in anger.
“One of these days,” Blake growled, watching her go. His lack-looney situation and the lack of female meat around his station made her butt seem finer every damn day. The way she jiggled it …. His hand curled in the itch to reach out and slap it in a parting shot.
But he knew better. The captain was a total bitch about laying hands on the women on board and could be brutal in enforcing her rules.
@^&##{==
Bellamy d'Angelo, aka Angel or Angelo, to his friends, made certain his bird was taken care of while the Cargo Master Mackey d'Bird dealt with the unloading and loading crap. Work crews were busy wrestling the bladders into position. This drop only allowed them to carry half the bladders down. They'd also carried extra personnel, hand tools, some survival gear, a small power plant, and the hydrogen separator.
The separator was already at work now that they'd gotten the power plant set up. A couple of the crew were arguing about the tents and crap. He didn't care about that, he had no intention of sleeping on the ground. He'd take the discomfort of the cramped bed on the bird and the smelly and squished foam mattress over sleeping on the rock and sand strewn ground any day.
There were a few tree-like things that had surprised them, a few bushes, not a lot. Enough to get a fire started maybe, if they weren't water logged. Again, not his problem. He didn't want to be on the ground at night anyway, not if he could help it.
The rest of the crew were seeing the landing as shore leave, a vacation from the long trip in the ship. For him it was work, real work. Honest work doing what he loved, piloting his baby. His hand ran over the underside of the nose, then his eyes checked the FOD screens he had installed inside the jet's intakes.
If he had time, and he intended to make time one way or the other, he intended to grab a shovel to skim the rocks in the area in front of the shuttle. He definitely intended to have some of the bigger boulders moved. Use some of the stuff to pack in the divots maybe, something. Do something to make the next landing less scary ass shit. And each time he was on the ground it would be shorter, but maybe he'd inspire the crew to follow his lead.
He snorted. Yeah, right, he thought despairingly. They were already screwing around. Take Blake and … he frowned and then shaded his eyes at the approach of a lone human figure. They were supposed to stay together he thought, noting the figure and recognizing the profile as female. He grinned slightly, ducking his head to hide his expression from Oswald, his copilot, who was nearby checking the avionics. Apparently Blake hadn't gotten any despite getting Kelsea alone as he'd plotted and planned. He'd bragged about it. Had she gotten word and spiked his guns? Or had he tried and gotten shot down politely? He wasn't sure. Kelsea wasn't stalking back in a foul mood so maybe a polite let down or not quite polite but less than a ball buster.
He made a mental note to rib Blake about it later. Apparently the man who could conquer any woman had failed utterly.
“Everything all right?” he asked as she finished checking the hose fittings to the hydrogen tank. She looked up, smiled ever so briefly, and gave him a thumbs-up, then went on her way.
Okay, so, maybe he'd hold off on the initial ribbing until he got to hear what Blake had to say he thought.
And from Blake's expression as the man came back kicking the occasional rock and whistling, there would be a fair amount of bullshit in whatever reply he got. Oh well, he had a job to do, ferrying fuel up to Marengo and people back down for a long overdue shore leave.
@^&##{==
That night by the fire, the Horathians enjoyed the crackle and dancing flame more for its fending off the insects that had suddenly put in a sunset appearance then for the smell or fire light. The plants on the planet were just horrible to burn, they stank despite their attempts to dry them out or treat them with flammable things.
“This would be a lot more fun with some hooch,” Mackey grumbled.
“Can't get it down on the shuttle, not enough,” Angelo said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Sucks though. Me, I'd rather have a beer,” he said.
“Two,” Blake said, holding up two fingers.
“Make it three if we're going to wish for things we can't have,” Kelsea said.
“Oh hell, make it four,” Oswald said, looking up.
“We'll have the ship fueled by first light I think,” Mackey said. “We're going to have to take shifts keeping guard,” he said.
“Why? What's going to come here, the boogey man?” Blake demanded.
“To make sure we swap the fuel bladders, dummy,” Mackey growled. “And yeah, to keep an eye out. Just because we haven't seen anything yet doesn't mean it ain't out there,” he said, looking out at the shadows.
“Oh, mister tough guy is afraid of the dark,” Blake mocked.
“Dude, I've been in the big black. I don't have to worry about getting bit,” Mackey slapped at a crab trying to box his big toe. A finger flick sent it into the fire. “Or worry about something coming out of the sea or air you know. Like those big ass birds and bat things we saw before sunset?”
“He's right,” Kelsea said, looking around them and then to the sky.
“Damn it. Now how the hell are we going to sleep with that on our minds?” Oswald demanded.
“Yeah,” Kelsea sighed. She gathered up her mylar blanket and pillow. “I'm going to go sleep under the wing of the shuttle. Just in case it rains or something,” she muttered.
“I'll take first watch,” Mackey said, raising a hand.
“I'll take second,” Angelo said. “Four hours?” he asked, eying Mackey.
“Make it three. That way we all get downtime,” he said. The pilot nodded.
“The rest of you better finish your dishes and then settle in then,” Angelo said, turning to the group at large. “Blake, you've got third watch.” He turned and pitched his voice to Kelsea. “Kelsea, you've got fourth watch. Oswald, you get this night off.”
“Lucky you,” Blake muttered darkly.
“Can it,” Angelo growled.
@^&##{==
The distant lights on the island attracted the attention of some of the local animals in the sea and air. Near 2 a.m. Blake woke them all up with a gunshot. They scrambled to their weapons, sputtering at the spray of sand until he ran over and fired at something again.
“What the hell, man??” Mackey demanded.
“I got it!” Blake said, grinning as he reached down into the sand and pulled out his trophy. He held the Pterosaur-like creature up by the leg. “I'm not sure what it is, but anyone want barbeque wings? Big ones?”
“Damn it man, you are insane,” Mackey grumbled.
“I like my meat dark actually,” Angelo said, eying the creature. “Blake, a word about discharging your firearm and waking us,” he said, face becoming a mask of stone.
“Now he's in for it,” Oswald growled.
“Hope so
. He's on his own for skinning and gutting the thing,” Mackey said, going back to his sleeping bag to turn in. “You okay, Kelsea?” he called out.
“Yeah,” the woman replied. “Got a bump and … damn it!”
“What?”
“Frack you little …,” Kelsea swore viciously, then they saw a light turn on near her area. “Fracking … check your clothes and stuff!” she called out.
“What?”
“Vampire bat thing! It was trying to suck my blood or something!” she snarled. “I got the little bastard but …”
“Are you sure you're okay?” Mackey said, now concerned as he started to come over to her bed.
“Don't! Stay put!” she called out.
“Why? More of them? You know there is safety in numbers.”
“And I like to sleep in the buff, bub. You are not invited,” she growled as he guffawed. Some of the guys chuckled. “And I think,” she said, getting to her feet, “I'll go sleep on the bird.”
“No, you've got the next shift. It's close enough to that time,” Angelo said.
Kelsea swore again.
“Figure it out. Beddy bye everyone else,” Angelo said, gathering his bedding and gear under his arm and headed to the shuttle.
“Where are you going?”
“Kelsea had the right idea. I wanted a hammock, but I think I'd rather sleep on the bird and avoid getting bit, thank you,” the pilot said. “This camping shit is for the birds,” he growled.
“Suit yourself,” Mackey said, tucking his hands under his head. That ended when he had to swat a bug off and then flick a crab who had decided to climb his shiny hillside-like body. “Damn planet,” he muttered. He rolled onto his side to see Blake making a hash out of skinning the pterosaur thing. He closed his eyes in pain and rolled the other way to face the fire.
But a few minutes later he heard someone fumbling at the fire. He cracked one eye to see Blake driving stakes into the fire and then putting more material on it. Then he rammed hunks of meat onto the spits.
